tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59504511730988447682014-10-02T21:18:40.679-07:00Go BlondesTiffany Moonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15446962547875593520noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5950451173098844768.post-25085956226755356022010-03-06T09:08:00.000-08:002010-03-06T09:12:16.509-08:00Trench Coats<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_H0x2BXW6NU0/S5KMpbUInPI/AAAAAAAAAAU/XTBcpfH-8Rg/s1600-h/pBUR-7031649t237x329.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 231px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_H0x2BXW6NU0/S5KMpbUInPI/AAAAAAAAAAU/XTBcpfH-8Rg/s320/pBUR-7031649t237x329.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445569542779084018" border="0"></a>
<meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CRaimonds%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="City"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="PlaceType"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="PlaceName"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="State"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="place"></o:smarttagtype><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} pre {margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Courier New";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--><pre style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; margin-top: 0.65pt; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;"><font style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68);" size="12"><font style=""> Trench Coats
</font></font></pre><pre style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; margin-top: 0.65pt; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;"><font style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68);" size="12"><font style=""><font style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153); font-family: times new roman;" size="3"> </font></font></font><font style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153); font-family: times new roman;" size="3"><font style="">It was one of those strange New York City days which starts wet and nasty and autumn like, with the temperature in 60’s, and then the weather suddenly turns and heats up by 20 degrees within a couple of hours. This turned out to be a lovely night with that soft, mild air that is just so pleasant when you wear your sexy, short mini dress. The soft mild wind touches your bare legs and it makes you feel so sexy. Very fortunate, since this was the night which I and Tiffany had picked to go out clubbing after what seemed to be like a 2-year break! Fortunately, nothing had really changed – “Tenjune” was still THE hot spot -just like 2 years ago, and the same promoters were hustling the tall and the beautiful into the clubs.
<font style=""> </font>Of course, we first had to check out the supposed new up and coming <font style=""> </font>“IT” spot - the new Andre Balaz hotel “Standard” with all its overpriced restaurants. People just couldn’t wait to step their foot into the door, with lines everywhere, even though it was just another Goddamn joint. So we decided to go exactly there, as we were always lured by the challenge of getting into places where nobody else can.
<font style=""> </font>Well, this was early September and, as I mentioned earlier, a very strange day, with the weather turnaround. It was hard to trust the sudden rise in temperature topped by the fact that it was nighttime, so the decision of “what to wear?!!!” was an especially hard one!
<font style=""> </font>Tiff was supposed to come over and stay at my place, since getting ready together is part of the fun of going out, and also gives you a chance to talk before everything is consumed by the loud music of the City Night life. When Tiffany arrived at my place to get ready together, she was wearing a trench coat, and overall was dressed inappropriately for this warm night. The weather had been so confusing! She unpacked a sexy eye candy dress that was extremely similar to my own, so we decided to dress like twins that night. To be more dramatic, we even did exactly the same heavy black eye make up, dresses, gold heals and of course - the trench coats.
<font style=""> </font>Mind you, I had never actually worn a trench coat to go out at night, and that is exactly what it looked like, because our dresses were too short for anyone to know we even had anything else underneath. It looked like we were just wearing trench coats for the night. The coats were above knee lengths and did look super cute with the gold
Stuart Weitzman heels Tiff had picked out! We ventured out into the night and I was in an excellent mood since I already had a couple of glasses of wine while waiting for Tiff to get ready.
<font style=""> </font>She was amusing me with stories about her massage that did not go so well earlier that afternoon. A Chinese woman had tortured her by poking and pricking her skin with her long nails, without having any method or knowledge of what the hell she was doing.
<font style=""> </font>"I could not wait for her to finish, and mind you, that should not be something you say about a massage!! She should be paying me to have to endure something like that instead of me having to pay and tip!!!"
To show her the “appreciation” Tiff had left her a tiny tip, to kind of get the message across that she should stick with manicures or whatever, but the old Chinese lady was rude enough to confront her about it.
<font style=""> </font>“I could not believe this! I thought it was the polite way to give her a hint when I tipped the nail lady $10 and her just $5, that maybe she kind of sucks! But I guess she needed me to yell it in her face!"
<font style=""> </font>After such a “relaxing” massage Tiffany really needed a drink tonight!
<font style=""> </font>When we arrived at the “Standard Grill” there was already a line of people and the handsome and arrogant doorman was explaining to everyone that the place is too crowded at the moment and some people will have to come out before he lets anyone in. Quite frankly, I admire these people, - how the hell can they muster so much air of self importance, when all they really are is a door stop?! And they're dealing with people way more accomplished than them, and yet they can make anyone feel small and stupid! I bet you they could utilize their talents and run brilliant ponzy schemes! I should really take a night out and just watch all the different <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">New York City</st1:place></st1:city> bouncers and door people and analyze their body language. One can learn a lot from them!
<font style=""> </font>Anyhow, as we arrived there by the door of the “oh, so crowded and
famous place”, the most unexpected thing happened - the door guy did NOT let us in right away! Was it the trench coats? What the hell was going on?! To break the ice, I asked him if there was a second floor bar at the Standard.
"No, no the Standard Hotel is over there. This is the Grill I have no idea which place you are talking about!"
"Wait a minute, isn't this restaurant part of the Standard Hotel?!"
"Well yes…."
Ok, this was not going anywhere. After we stood there for another minute and a half, he asked us:
"So do you know which place you want to go to?" and meanwhile let some other people in, who were crowding behind us. What!!!? That was just too much! We were not used to the doors NOT being flown open for us,
"What's going on?” I asked Tiff, who was getting more and more anxious to get her first drink.
"I don't know, lets go check out the Standard then, this is too bizarre!"
<font style=""> </font>So, you could say that we had altogether stood there for a whole 5 minutes
and NOT been let it! This idea with trench coats was not working out. I really don't understand, because they were super elegant and trendy and made us look like a million bucks, but something definitely did not seem to click.
<font style=""> </font>We promptly went into the Hotel, down to the bathroom area, through there up the stairs and into the famous “Standard Grill”, we were not to endure that kind of treatment!!! The door guy blankly stared at us from the other side of the door as we had somehow found our way in, and yet he did not remember letting us in. Miracle!! Or was he losing his marbles?! Poor bastard, - let him wonder!
<font style=""> </font>As soon as we shuffled our way to the bar there was a tall, very drunk Scandinavian man, and he offered us a drink:
<font style=""> </font>"Hello, what is your name? Would you like a drink?" that was all he ever said. He got us our drinks and left us alone, what a BLISS!! Two minutes later we heard him say again:
"Hello, what is your name? What would you like to drink?" to another girl.
It seemed like he was learning English and just knew one great pick up line, but let me tell you - that is all he really needs to know! Excellent job! We did not come here for drunken conversation; we came here for a drink! You pay for drink, we take off our trench coats and you can marvel at our beautiful bodies for as long as the booze is flowing! Really, that is all that is needed to happen between a man and a woman in a club-bar setting. We don't need to talk! What kind of bullshit we are going to talk about anyways! Just more lies and made up stories. So we instantly liked the guy, and also downed the drinks to get a new one before, he got too drunk to forget his famous phrase. And you guessed it, as we turned and smiled to him, he promptly said:
<font style=""> </font>"Hello, what is your name? What would you like to drink?"
We burst into giggles, and instantly knew this night will not be that bad after all! How could it be! When did Tiffany and I EVER had a bad night out!
<font style=""> </font>After a while some of his more sober friends came over to chat. Everyone seemed to be Scandinavian, and we felt quite at home. Hedge-funders - need I say more?<o:p></o:p></font></font></pre><pre face="times new roman" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; margin-top: 0.65pt; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; color: rgb(51, 0, 153); font-family: times new roman;"><font size="3"><font style=""> </font>After two good, strong drinks we were ready to venture further. The drunk Scandinavian man, whose name I just don't recall, even though he must have introduced himself to us some 5 times in the course of the hour, was actually planning to drink some more at a place called "Goldbar"! What a great guy, but Goldbar in LES did not entice us, so we split.
<font style=""> </font>We were in Meatpacking, so we decided to look around and see who is still
in business. We went to “Kiss &amp; Fly” and asked for Rhino, but it turned out he had not worked there since spring. It made sense, since the place had really gone downhill! Another obliging door greeter (I don't know what the hell they are called??!! - hosts?), who looked just like Rhino, - very cute, let us in immediately with comps. It took us exactly 4 minutes to confirm that the place truly sucks and we left. Romano, the new Rhino wished us a Good night!
<font style=""> </font>The Goddamn cobble stones were making walking impossible and we needed to decide on a spot fast! Now I know how they trap all these beautiful girls in the Meat packing - it is the darn streets, you can't walk that far on those cobblestones in your heels, so you have to stay and party right there! The more terrible the pavement, the more successful the club! Tiffany decided to pick out the most gorgeous guy on the street and
stopped him to ask which way is “Tenjune”, even though we knew perfectly well were it was.
<font style=""> </font><font style=""> </font>First I was a bit shocked she was asking this, but seeing the tall all American guy smile at her, and just how hot he was - it all made perfect sense! Turned out the boy was from <st1:place st="on"><st1:state st="on">Texas</st1:state></st1:place> and had no clue where anything was! This was hilarious, so we asked him if he had any hot friends, because we needed at least two. If you read between the lines of his answer, which absolutely does not match with what he actually said, his Girlfriend was waiting in the bar across the street. He smiled longingly and we smiled, but nothing could be done tonight, so we moved on, and decided to go to <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">Texas</st1:place></st1:state> one day for sure! And that dork should know that there is know reason to bring your firewood to the forrest!
<font style=""> </font>As we arrived at Tenjune there was a raging crowd of people on both sides of entrance and the bouncers were handling everyone like kettle. Nothing had changed within the 2 years we had been away. Did these people really like that shite hip hop/disco music that much or was it more where do "I get to be seen" situation...? The crowd outside looked huge and desperate enough for us to want to skip it! So we walked right up to the big black angry guy, ignoring the rules as usual, and he asked us if we were on someone's list.
“Matt!" Tiff blurted out as if we were really supposed to go through with these formalities. The bouncer lit up! I guess Matt was a very common name amongst promoters.
"Matt Hues?" or whatever last name he happily added.
"Yes!" I smiled.
"Ok, text him to come outside and walk you in!"
"Ok!!" - what??? What the hell? Who the hell will we text? This was taking too long! As on cue, another promoter we knew materialized in front of us happy as a puppy!
"How many are you? Just two?" he measured our dresses approvingly. By
this point we had removed the infamous trench coats, because obviously there was something very wrong with them! We nodded and smiled, and perked out our tits, making sure we looked tall.
"Come with us here!” he offered. Judging by his crowd, he was going for the "we look like young rock stars (but really are broke nobodies)" look. Very interesting what the youth were enjoying these days. The "I'm too cool to dress up for a night club" attitude was great, but nevertheless, it was us - in our 30s, looking hotter than anyone, who got shuffled to the front of the crowd, so the bouncers would hurry the fuck up with their ropes and chains.
<font style=""> </font>Once we got inside the service was spectacular. Some Scandinavian
businessmen were actually thrown off our table, and our bottles appeared immediately, or maybe we just took over theirs. Who cares!? Everyone was nice and happy in our group and it seemed like they even liked the music. Finally, we could fold up our trench coats and leave them on the seat! After a drink or so, even Tiffany and I were enjoying the shitty rap songs. Some guy was really harassing me, so I asked one of the cute promoter’s friends to help me deal with this situation. He obligingly took me over to his side and blocked the dude from any access to me. He even went all the way to find out from our promoter if he knew who the heck it was. Turns out it was actually the guy on the inside of the club who got us in, so we had to leave it at that. I instantly liked this boy, even though I really cannot recall his name. And very cute as well, tall, lean, young, happy! I still have his business card somewhere, so I'm sure I can get his name and number and call him, right....?
<font style=""> </font>So anyways, the night was getting happier and happier, Tiffany was dancing wild and flirting with guys non-stop. It seemed like it was a Scandinavian night for her tonite. We decided to make our "rounds", which means walk a circle around the place and see if anyone is of any use, like sex or money or both. I run into a tall handsome guy in his forties, - just my taste, and we started talking, because I remembered him from the “Standard Grill”. He kept eyeing me there already, and I don't forget tall handsome men who eye me for at least the next 3 hours! He was sexy, with Australian accent, good sense of style and a nice watch. He was drinking whiskey and I found it very mature and sexy. What I did not find sexy, was that he kept pouring that whiskey on my feet. Quite frankly, my feet were soaking wet, but his glass was still half full and I wondered how that was possible. As a matter of fact, he was not the only person pouring drinks on my feet that night, - a number of drunk bitches had passed me earlier each blessing me with a "sip" of their drink right onto my toes. What was up with that?? At least my feet were definitely well sanitized and I was sure not to catch any foot fungus that night. The guy turned out to be in town just recently, but was determined to stay forever:
<font style=""> </font>“I mean this is the best place in the world! Why would I want to go anywhere else from here! This is it! The best place!"
<font style=""> </font>I was happy he had found out the simple truth about life early, the NYC was indeed "the shit", but I was growing tired of his spilling his drink, so I took his number and went back to our table. I needed to take off my shoes and let them dry. I used this opportunity to climb onto the sofa and dance! The Scandinavian businessmen where still there, waving, staring and there for taking, which was cute. The harasser had not left very far either, and within the next minute that very nice promoter friend was back by my
side and happily pouring me another glass of alcohol. Between sips of champagne, I looked at him for real for the first time that night. He had taken off his sweater and his muscles were showing under the soft fabric of T-shirt. I could see the dimple at the bottom of his neck and it was sexy and athletic, and things like that just turn me on. Really turn me on! A sexy, athletic neck of a man, and that little dimple at the bottom has to be just so, and it will be the thing that makes or breaks the deal. I realized I did not have to look anywhere else that night. He was here; I was here, the beat of the music, all that booze. We danced, we smiled and I said I will go with him. We got up and left. He was young, but since I have become so bad at telling people's age, I mainly judged by the style of his clothes. It later turned out he was 23. I was 32. Ha! I really don't give a shit anymore about age. I used to physically get a sick feeling in my stomach at a sight of young boys, to even think of them that way. Men even just a year younger than me made me puke and feel like a pedophile. I knew I was officially old when that feeling stopped. Or was I just mature? Besides, men between 22 and 26 fuck the best. They already know what they are doing, but they are still hungry. <o:p></o:p></font></pre><font style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153); font-family: times new roman;" size="3"><font style=""><font style=""> </font>But back to that evening! We got in the cab, and suddenly the lack of
loud music gave this schmuck a chance to TALK. Oh, boy!!
"You have no idea who I am, do you?” he said.
I looked at him bewildered, and he no longer looked as good as in the club. His eyes were a very light shade of blue, see-through, like fish. Not sexy. I tried to half close my eyes and hoped this ride will be over in a minute, so I don't have to have a conversation and we can get on with it. I opened my eyes, and he spoke again:
"You don't know, do you?! Actually, maybe it is better that way! Yes, maybe I even prefer it!"
I could not believe this, and was starting to get very disgusted, very fast:
"Yes, please" I pleaded, “I would rather not know who you are. Really, please don't tell me. I don't wanna know!"
Jeez! There were many other things I did not want to know, like anything at all of what he might have to say, but he had to open his mouth again:
" I am like the top guy at Corcoran!!" he said with huge pompous.
"Corcoran?!...." did he mean the fucking real estate brokerage? I sure hope his dad owned that whole darn company and died and now he inherited the whole thing or something at least as good as that.
" It is like the biggest NYC brokerage firm!” he would not stop!
"Yes?!" this better be good, or I was getting a headache.
"Well I am like their top broker!" he was super proud as he said this. At this point I was really annoyed and angry and the sick feeling to my stomach when I encounter young kids had undoubtedly retuned. I fished my phone out of my bag and tried dialing Tiffany to see if I could still return to the club and spend my time in a more worth while manner. No luck, of course she was not picking up, and I was too drunk to make any other reasonable decision.
"I am hungry" I said. I realized I had skipped dinner and was really hungry the whole night. Of course, normally you forget about things like that when having a god time, but now I remembered it very clearly. Obviously, I was not having a good time! I looked at the guy and he was not even half as attractive as I thought - young and skinny and with very pale fish like eyes.
"I want to eat something!" I demanded, he was gonna pay for wasting my time, even if it was just a slice of pizza.
"We will order something from my place" he suggested. Thank God we had arrived.
Turned out that the super successful broker lived in <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">East</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">Village</st1:placetype></st1:place>, and shared a two bedroom in a street side apartment of a walk up. The place was kind of neat for two young boys, but “petty” considering his grand intro speech.
"I usually don't have people over" he said, and I could understand why he felt self conscious. I could not care less about his insecurities and immaturities at this point; I reminded that we had to order me food. He called the deli and was having a hard time communicating with the Asian guy who was there, so he passed the phone over to me to try to explain what I want.
"I want something with Mozzarella cheese" I spoke as clearly as I could, trying not to slurre words. I was focusing on the complex conversation at hand, and did not realize
that somehow my panties had come off and he was under me, licking me. He
flustered with my dress and by the time it was off, I finally realized that tonight might be a great night after all.
"You know what! Actually forget it! Cancel the order!" I said to the deli guy and hang up. We scurried into the bedroom. He did not hesitate a minute. He was fucking me hard and within a couple of minutes I already came, gasping for air, I tried pushing him away.
"What do you want me to do?" he asked gently. As he gave me a breather, I rolled around on top of him, to try to slow things down, but this seemed to excite him even more. He greedily pushed my hips onto him and held me expertly with one hand around hips, the other caressed around my neck, pushing me down, deeper onto his dick. He pushed me hard and fast, so that I did not get any break at all. He felt me go limp, so he turned me around again on my back and just kept fucking me like there was no tomorrow. I pushed
him, and whimpered, but he would not stop. After what seemed like eternity, he slowed down and whispered:
"You OK, baby? You want something?"
"I just want you to come and stop...I managed between gasps, but he said:
"Oh, you can take it!" and just kept going. I don't know how long we were fucking, he was sweating hard, wet all over, and his sweat was dripping on my face. He was a gentleman enough to wipe it off. That turned me on. I gave in. I was truly being FUCKED and I loved it.
<font style=""> </font>In the morning I awoke to the sound of unloading trucks and a smell of gas that was strongly leaking in even though the windows were closed. He had pushed me all the way to the side of the bed. I guess this had happened by him moving closer to me and me running away. Oh, the sweetness of young, they always want to feel the warm body next to them, the togetherness! I mumbled something bitchy about the stench of gas. This must have awoken him. He found my hips under the blanket caressed them lightly and pushed himself onto and into me without any hesitation, just the way I like it. He must have had a big dick because I loved every second of it. I grabbed onto his shoulders and just hanged in there while I was being fucked really hard once again. What a fantastic night it turned out to be after all!
He looked at me and smiled:
"Wow, You're hair is a mess" and went back to sleep. I got up and started searching for my clothes. I went to see my hair in the mirror and finally realized the true meaning of the phrase - "JFL"- Just Fucked Look. Jesus Christ, it was something that needed a comb if I was ever to leave this building. The tell-tell signs were just too obvious. It made me wonder for how long did we really did it last night?? Hours?! I started looking around his shelf for a brush or comb or something when I noticed two prescription pill packages! I was alarmed - prescription pills at 23?!, what kind of fucking STD was this guy trying to heal! I brought them over to his bedside:
“Good morning, sunshine! What are these?!"
He was not happy that I "had been going through his stuff", but explained that they were for anxiety and to help quit smoking. What!!?? Quit smoking? I was reminded once again about the huge gap between our generations. Back in my day, when someone wanted to quit smoking at 23, they just stopped smoking cigarettes, and happily saved some $$. What was there so complex that you needed to involve doctors?
Anyways, I kind of regret I did not save the medication names into my phone, to later google them to just feel safe. I was strapping on my shoes, and putting on my party dress to go out into the glory of morning daylight. This is when I was so grateful for the Trench Coat. This is when it came to be so handy! Maybe it was a bit of a drawback at night, but in the harsh light of morning it was a life saver, for I was to face a sea of stupid tourists, who would probably start taking pictures of me if it was not for the Trench Coat.
"So where do you live?" he asked, not really moving to come and lead me to the door. I looked at him and noticed that his skin was totally white and he was covered in fair freckles. Not my favorite coloring at all! He was well built but way to skinny and faint.
He had a reddish hue to his hair. None of this was visible in the night club lighting, he looked good last night. Not so attractive in the morning light. I hesitated and decided to just close the doors right there:
" I live with my husband, babes. With my husband!" I smiled.
He jumped in the bed a bit and his eyes popped out! His reaction was definitely worth it.
"OMG, I had no idea! But look", he grabbed my hands, " you re not wearing a ring! How can you be married?"
I was kind of laughing inside. I don't get this - do men really look at rings and protect the holy marriage. I mean what difference does it make!
"The rings are removable, you know..."
He was upset. After pondering a bit he finally delivered:
" I could probably beat him up anyway"
Oh, so he was genuinely scared! Ha,ha! He must be watching too many <st1:place st="on">Hollywood</st1:place> movies! Right!...??? He was very upset, so I told him:
"Look, don't worry about it! I lied, OK?"
I was ready to go. He did get up from bed and gave me kisses on both cheeks. Was he protecting himself and me from morning breath, or was he super turned off? He fumbled around his clothes and then gave me his business card.
"Call me" he said.
The card said "sales person" on it.
I braced myself for the harshness of the street. The trench coat was awesome, but the fact that you could see nothing else underneath, just my legs with high heels was not so cool. The cab could only get you so far; I still had to face a couple of touristy spots, like the World Trade Center Ground Zero. I definitely did not fit in there, and some people were actually pointing at me and women were telling their guys:
"Oh, look at her!"
I thought in NYC anyone could wear anything, no? Later I was having brunch with Tiffany and recapping on our night’s adventures. It was a fabulously warm September day, we could sit in our T-shirts in the sun and it felt hot! It’s great to have a good day after a good night. And where the heck is his card? I feel I need to know the guy’s name, in case I run into him again in a club, which is very possible with these promoter types. That would be just rude if I drew a blank, and I am not a rude person!</font></font><font style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153); font-family: times new roman;" size="3"><font style=""></font></font>Tiffany Moonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15446962547875593520noreply@blogger.com1